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434 · Dec 2016
The ones before.
brooke Dec 2016
How could she
Have been more
In all her sordidness
Was it the way her
Body bucked and
Lifted?
(c) Brooke Otto 2016

I dunno.
433 · Sep 2017
To be, To go.
brooke Sep 2017
all i've wanted is to sleep

to tip over and land
soak in distilled whiskey
like arthropods preserved
in amber, except me
lost in an extended
trance, dissolving
into resins, ointments
oils--

i don't want to feel trapped
i fear me leaving more
than anything else,
me leaving to beat
the traffic, catch the
train, board the bus
to Abilene
a roundtrip
god I'm
tired of tryin'
so
hard.
(c) Brooke Otto


tryin' so hard to stay.
to go, to do, to be
to say.
433 · May 2015
rough.
brooke May 2015
there's this song by Fiona Apple

called Parting Gift and you looked at me the
way he looked at her with  h u n g r y  eyes
and an anxious tongue, you a l m o s t made
beer smell good, a bitter rush of   wind  and
sweet malt cologne    b    u   t     this bonfire
is too warm and something doesn't feel right
something never feels right, maybe it was
your 6th beer and noted sobriety, the 7th
before i left and whatever was left in the
truck bed in my absence.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015
433 · Feb 24
… - - - …
brooke Feb 24
I have fled from this profound
sense of loneliness my entire life—

Nothing has ever felt right, good or
Safe. I have hardly found another person
that seems to speak the same language,
Am I to be a single aldis lamp in the night
flashing across the great sea with
nothing but the stars to

twinkle back at

Me.
432 · Feb 2015
sickness.
brooke Feb 2015
this worry
fills me to
the b r i m
looks  like
the v i e w
from  my
w i n d o w
reads half
french, half
a l g e b r a i c
equation and
worst of all it
wakes me up
in the middle
of the night.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015
431 · Jul 2017
Spate.
brooke Jul 2017
i like to remember that
waves still form in part
due to ocean basins

that my intuition
skims along the floors
and only reverberates
all that it finds to the top,

so maybe if I better
understood the reasoning
the seat of my heart, the crux
of why I am, this turbulence
would come a little easier,

the combers,  though heavy
and unyielding--predictable,
navigable, waters I can
sail on.
(c) Brooke Otto
430 · Sep 2016
Populus Genus, Part I.
brooke Sep 2016
the drive down hardscrabble is filled with
the rasp of Jim's feed truck and the heavy
jangle of steel parts in the side compartments.
For a while we don't speak and i lose myself
in the stars, eaten up by Ursa Major, broken down
and condensed, blown out and away--
His headlights wash across the aspens
with their rangy bodies congregated on the
western slopes; spectral and reminiscent of
dancers or other sylphlike beings captured
unannounced.


when I think back on this moment
I realize that's where it all ended
the last moment where for a few
idle seconds, it seemed like
maybe it could work
out.

there's a barely-there eroticism about the
way he touches me, with rough, seasoned
fingers pressing eagerly between the tendons
in my wrist, racing up my shin or gingerly sweeping
the inside of my thigh.
I
used
to feel all the time
(c) Brooke 2016
Written in March. Unfinished and I'm tired of seeing it in my drafts.
430 · May 2017
kick it up.
brooke May 2017
truth is
i'd prolly
still pull your
coat strings, kiss
you if you showed
up but we both know
you won't,

push off your hat
tell me you don't want
to hear my heartbeat

tell me you don't
want that.
430 · Jan 2014
Internal Screaming.
brooke Jan 2014
it's always about what
we will have when we
get there and what that
slice of bread will look
like on my thighs, I never
wanted this, i never wanted
food to dictate my life.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
430 · Jun 2016
Inside this House.
brooke Jun 2016
have you ever felt your body?


have you ever felt your body?
a mellow clay mold sitting in the
bathroom, filled with pops and
quick ticks, i've often searched my
veins for pains, and they manifest
when I do, so I wonder--

about that.


and when I think about it too much
my belly starts to buzz and my chest
thickens with a warm afterglow, yeast
rising in a far clavicle, in my kidneys
and spleen--when I focus on the sounds
I can hear the pin drop of my soul, a tiny
bead on a string, a group of pink seashells
on Newton's cradle in a room shadowed in
broken evening, clicking against each other
softly, a lilliputian clock keeping time from
another century--

lost in twilight, in dawn, skipping the day,
my spirit always sinks into the everglades
a flighty anachronism, a homing pigeon
caught in telephone wires, beneath bus
wheels and modern dating--

ah,

out there?
hello?
forward message.  
I am here.
(c) Brooke Otto 2016

everything is so loud and i am so small.
429 · May 2013
Selfish Kicks.
brooke May 2013
i wish i could love him
the way that I used to
I'm a yawn away but
the bridge is too high
on walls too long, I
cannot love you the
way i used to. But
at the same time
I cry out in despair
don't leave me, I'm
not ready for that.
(c) Brooke Otto
428 · May 2014
Odd Future WGKTA.
brooke May 2014
how could I
have lost myself
when you were
the one covering
everything up?
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
427 · Nov 2013
Lit up.
brooke Nov 2013
you can see
our house from
four miles out
on cr 123, I'm
positive the light
follows us.
(c) Brooke Otto 2013
427 · May 2017
Give in.
brooke May 2017
(for the record)
i only said no labels
'cause I thought that's
what he wanted--
he said
what's gonna change?
and I wanted to say
me
cause i was ready for the
title, the label, the documents
the deeds, whatever we wanted
to call it, with garrett hedlund
lyrics on repeat

*my heart is set on you
i don't want no one else
and if you don't want me
i guess i'll be
all by myself
(c) Brooke Otto 2017

come on, come on.


song is by Garrett Hedlund-- go find it yourself.
427 · Nov 2013
HIT SEND.
brooke Nov 2013
i
keep
hoping
you'll
talk
to
me
first


                     you're
                     just
                     a
                    ghost


what
about
endings
do
I
not
understand
?


                          how
                          done
                          with
                          me
                          are
                          you?


i
made
everything
abundantly
clear
to
everyone
but
myself.
(C) Brooke Otto 2013

well, whatever.
426 · Mar 2017
for a girl.
brooke Mar 2017
when does your family stop being
your family, when you decided they
don't need to know your whereabouts
or who you're kissin',
when mama interferred
for the last time and you
drove the lonely 12 minutes
from his house to yours wishing
you made more sense, wishing
you didn't hurt so much over
every **** thing, so you're
tellin' god no more ultimatums
no more dark drives where you're
cursin and profanin his name

but when do you draw the line
when their home ain't your own
and your house big as empty feels
always warm but filled with you
and you're always far too much
too much thought, too much
water, not enough wood
he says you immediately told
your mom
and i did, which got
me thinkin' about whether families
are comprised of just one, and if
I could be my own, if you need
two, if a dog counts
if there are rules
or just a hand on my back
if God's a good lead then
i'm pushing right back
(c) Brooke Otto 2017
426 · Apr 2012
January
brooke Apr 2012
We sat on the fallen tree by
the stream, behind the library guarded
by wisdom, I guess it was
a funny situation but I told you
straight faced that she was
there before me as if it were 6am
holiday shopping and she'd bought you
first
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Oct 2013
one of the first
times we met
you stood on
the edge of
a roof and I
think you
are still






there.
(c) Brooke Otto
425 · Aug 2013
Chatter.
brooke Aug 2013
each person
is a
crowd
(c) Brooke Otto
425 · Aug 2013
Category 2 Hurricane.
brooke Aug 2013
My mom likes to ask
the serious questions
that I try to avoid,
What if this, brooke
what if that, brooke
I have answers for
all of them, thoughts
for later, everything
for later, I really fight
over those answers
later.
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Apr 2017
I've always fallen in love in autumn
always to fall apart early spring--
call me deciduous, the abscission just happens,
I've considered my winter coats, my shields,
the neat places I've tucked myself away

were we to overwinter?
to hibernate until further notice?
the titles were frightening, impending and
ominous, each one a textbook on subjects
we had no knowledge of, dark leatherback novels
featuring versions of ourselves we never meant
to be or never knew we could --

wrapped in sleeping bags and white down duvets
best during the winter becase we were both
raging fires, flames licking at eachothers doors
stopping short of our naked toes, put out by the
here and there snow, but sometimes
we were embers, pulsing stones of coal
settling, wishing, waiting, kissing wounds
breathing secrets over bruises--

but migration comes suddenly,
i've been in and out dormant for years
a sputtering volcano rumbling and groaning--

were we to overwinter?
I lost the dream woke with a start,
the caldera gave way and sunk in
terrified I'd take you with,
but travelers don't pause for eruptions
or make their way through magma --

and volcanos don't plead
   for them to
       stay
       were we to    
                overwinter?
(c) Brooke Otto 2017
425 · Aug 2016
Cords cables
brooke Aug 2016
too quiet
too quiet
you don't talk
she's too quiet
she's too quiet
you never talk


but I talk, I have
so much to say, so
much on my mind
and this laughter is
genuine, is genuine
someone give me a
chance, give me a
**** chance.
(c) Brooke Otto 2016


it's late and I have a lot to say
425 · Mar 2013
So Speak With Conviction.
brooke Mar 2013
someday what you
say will reach that
place you spoke it
to
(c) Brooke Otto
425 · Jul 2012
Break.
brooke Jul 2012
I promised myself I wouldn't give in
my resolve to be stronger than myself turned out
to be null, for one, because it almost didn't make sense in the first place

but there we were, shuffling about on the sheets like we'd never
touched before (or never bothered to touch before) which is entirely untrue
because we used to quite frequently

and I watched intently as your eyebrows caved, mouth fell open
but you refused to make any noise

So,
yes,
I squeezed it out of you.
(c) Brooke Otto
424 · May 2016
cold.
brooke May 2016
west of town they're these low
white clouds filled with frost
straddling the mountains like
a woman's thighs,

it's not cold enough to freeze
but bitter enough to bite through
the glass and needle into the cracks
small as pin-******,

Westcliffe's got the worst of it but I've
been thinking opposite of your whereabouts
ever since you told me I'd be better off alone
cut straight in with a bodkin, 'cept you had
no thread, just took any sharp object meant
for better things and delivered readily.
(c) Brooke Otto 2016
424 · Nov 2013
lovely girl.
brooke Nov 2013
defiantly
thrashing in
the snow, naked
asking why, begging
to be noticed, found,
gathered.
(c) Brooke Otto 2013
424 · Oct 2014
7 Weeks Ago.
brooke Oct 2014
w h e n  w a s the
last time you drew
me I can almost swear
I'm the first thing you
see because your pencil
always wants to draw
my nose, you know
exactly how it feels
with the ridge on
the end, and
your charcoal
sticks will always
find my eyebrows
because they're the
blackest things you've
ever had , So you've
fo r g o t t e n what
my lips feel like
but not how I
kiss always
trying to
grab your tongue
to absorb the words
you never said. So.

tell me, when was the last
time your portraits sped off
for her but turned into me?
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

one can hope.
424 · May 2014
And.
brooke May 2014
it rained on the drive
home and brett fell
asleep early on beneath
the hum of sigur ros
and I realized my
thighs were warm
and I was living and
breathing and you
should want me
you should want
me because I am
warm and living and
breathing.
(c) Brooke Otto
424 · Mar 2015
bud.
brooke Mar 2015
and
as
god
is
my
witness.
small bud. very small bud.

(c) Brooke Otto 2015
423 · Dec 2017
quiet.
brooke Dec 2017
the construction
outside my bedroom window
finally stopped--a groaning
heaviness that rattled my
insides, made me feel like
there was air missin'--
a sound of normal i'd
lost

i turned over in bed
sure as the moon
that it was sunday
up at the dried sycamore seeds
still clinging to the tree
climbing the north facing
wall, twizzling down
against the double paned window

i imagine once all of this is over
that's what it will be like--
a sound of normal i'd
forgotten.
in my drafts from a while ago.

(c) Brooke Otto 2017
423 · Feb 2014
Impending Happiness?
brooke Feb 2014
i find myself waiting
for this happiness to
be brief, for a kick in
the a-frame, and my
legs snap together,
falling over like a
knocked easel
but I don't want
to live in fear of
fear, because I'm
just waiting to be
scared of something.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

does that make sense?
423 · Nov 2013
To Fall Out of Love.
brooke Nov 2013
People have
been telling
me Brooke you
don't have to stay
here anymore
and
I know that now.

I don't know where
I'm going but It's not
near you, above you
under you, beside you
beneath you, I'm not
a state away I'm a
universe away, I'm light
years away, you fell
down a hole and I
grabbed a ledge.
(c) Brooke Otto
422 · Nov 2017
When You Get the Chance.
brooke Nov 2017
i'm finally sleeping through the night--

and for a couple days I'll wake up and
not think of you at all--
people say your name and it sounds like an old prayer
each syllable a funny amen

I've been shadowboxing myself, my old friend
i've been been relearning to to be comfortable with silence in the end
neither of us kept our promises but that's no unforgivable sin

i've considered a hundred thank yous
all lined up  on the lawn, white pickets to make a nice fence
and sometimes I've stood in my kitchen and stared at the mugs
whispered i don't know myself but that's why
i left, wasn't it?

i'll admit to being jealous of your happiness,
i've only so many faces to keep, and i only want one

it's taken a while to own the fault,
i see  every shameful thing and dust off the
way i used to hold myself

I'm finally sleeping through the night
a little bit heavy, no less able to dream
and i hear part of you like i might
the soft hurt i left in your bed
so, please forgive me
when you get the chance.


please forgive me
when you get the chance.
written to Comfortable with the Silence by Andy Shauf

(c) Brooke Otto



to matt.
422 · Jan 2013
Murmur.
brooke Jan 2013
but it's alright
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Apr 2017
pinky promise

we've forgotten our mortality
our impulse to smile at *blooms

we've stared at childhood photographs
and wondered why we look so angry

the art of fault and denial are synonymous
we've stopped speaking in hopes that silence really does
speak volumes,
our bodies could fell, cracked down like oak and our voices
remain like cocoons, papery whispers swathed in duff,
still breathlessly prating, foolish and juvenile.

which goes to say-- our thoughts
far procede the vessel, would last beyond our
deaths and ancestry--

i once spoke about anger being passed down
through the blood of irishmen - who long held the
propensity to bar fight and brawl
long standing feuds poured from mouth to mouth
downriver, across the gap, occasionally skipping a generation
the woes of our fathers are dead languages that we keep--
tongues we deliver on our own

we lash out and are our mothers
or laugh and see our fathers
never quite our own until burgeoning, and not even that --
not all of us bloom, some of us violently tear away
break the root and toss ourselves among the rocks
wilted but brilliantly colored  
       desperate to
                   learn how to speak.
kiss your thumb.


(c) Brooke Otto 2017
422 · Jan 2013
Polish Steal.
brooke Jan 2013
I hate you because
I meekly sought
your comfort in
the theater, telling
you I still loved him
and you went and
fell in love with him
too
(c) Brooke Otto
421 · Dec 2014
back in july.
brooke Dec 2014
he's using me as a new year's
r e s o l u t i o n  probably to
be kinder or apologize more
there's little reason to calling
me up but I let people back in
so easily  p r o b a b l y  to be
kinder or apologize more
maybe because I just want
to be loved and I'm letting
all the wrong people love

me
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
419 · Mar 2013
Faith Part.
brooke Mar 2013
I was the
strongest
two years
ago, today.
(c) Brooke Otto
419 · May 2014
Spaces.
brooke May 2014
we are children riddled
with holes that we hasten
to fill, but it's okay to have
ditches, to have pits, caverns
pinholes, dots.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
419 · Oct 2017
40:31.
brooke Oct 2017
those wings on your
back weren't meant to
keep you up forever--
even eagles land
clouds dissipate
and great travelers
come down off the
mountains.
(c) brooke otto 2017



good morning.
419 · May 2014
C and Blossom.
brooke May 2014
filled with salt
my cuticles sting
my lungs compressed
between tatami mats
and I slosh in bed,
back and forth in
a warm, viscous mud
my skin tingles with
dewy sweat.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
419 · Mar 2017
the last
brooke Mar 2017
after the storm
he stroked my hair
back and told me
my pupils looked
like Tiger's Eye,
no, really
real soft like
he does best
maybe that's
why I let him
in.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017
418 · Jan 2013
A Place at Your Table.
brooke Jan 2013
Why do we like to
belong
with people?
(c) Brooke Otto
418 · Apr 2013
No Appetite.
brooke Apr 2013
something strange and deep
hurts beneath my ribs, hardly
a flesh wound, but it exists without
a doubt. And because I can't get to it
I can't solve it. I hate math, but my entire
existence is an equation without a formula.
(c) Brooke Otto
417 · Feb 2013
Yves Saint Laurent.
brooke Feb 2013
How easily
something
becomes so

foreign
(c) Brooke Otto
416 · Nov 2012
Ruin.
brooke Nov 2012
Hallowed, the boat
that brings me to

you
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke Apr 2016
my favorite ****
color is the unwashed
indigo blue of your truck
with a muddy license plate

Parked off to the side
Beside the pines
April 25th

(C) Brooke Otto 2016
416 · May 2013
For Eating the Bird.
brooke May 2013
he sat out on the back
porch with the dog and
tugged on her collar.

it ain't your fault for doing
what you know

he said quietly, a swig of
water afterwards. and the
sun went down real slow
like behind the trees casting
purple shadows on his
carhartt boots

she'll not mistake your
nature, she knows what
you are and she loves you,

he said in hushed tones
as she moved through
the kitchen.

she loves you.
(c) Brooke Otto
416 · Oct 2012
Les Fées.
brooke Oct 2012
could I speak wonders like you
something out of Perrault's stories
could there be diamonds?
To articulate my thoughts into something would be great.


(c) Brooke Otto
416 · Mar 2017
fleeting.
brooke Mar 2017
**** near lost
it all tryin' to be
perfect, upped
my tolerance for
whiskey and now
I just use it when
i'm trying to think
about anything but
you, but i'll be dancin'
with some guy named
Mike and all i can see
is your face reflected
in the windows of
an Antlers hotel
'cause i think that
was the last morning
we were okay.

but lookin' back on it,
i kinda ruined it with a
kiss, we started fighting
when I started fallin' thinking
we needed to be more
but then you said you
loved me and
it wasn't just
me
anymore.

either way--
if there's no use crying
over spilled milk i've
been crying for weeks and
that milk's done and gone
you're spittin venom
and i'm soaking it
up with a dish rag
hopin' it'll turn to
water.
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